


A Princess Talks to a Bounty Hunter

by MoveTheUniverse



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: BAMF Leia Organa, Boba Fett - Freeform, Consensual, Dirty Talk, F/M, Grand Moff Tarkin lives and then dies, LEIA IS A BADASS, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Post-A New Hope, Sexy Times, Shameless Smut, a slight slow burn, boba is totally an amazing lover, consensual slightly rough sex, small mention of leia's ptsd post alderaan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-10-03 14:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17286161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoveTheUniverse/pseuds/MoveTheUniverse
Summary: "You won't kill him, right?" the princess asks, each time she places a bounty. Until Alderaan is destroyed. Until everything changes. Then, she wants vengeance, which is something the bounty hunter knows all too well. Their work brings them together, but their passion is what heats one cold night on Yavin IV.Boba Fett/Leia what-could-have-been pwp.





	A Princess Talks to a Bounty Hunter

“You won’t kill him, right?” The princess asks softly. She’s standing on the balcony of a building in the wealthiest district of Coruscant wearing a dress that he’s sure cost as much as a small speeder bike. It also, frankly, looks big enough to hide at least half of a speeder under its skirts. And yet, she’d told him the price for the bounty with all the penny-pinching diligence of a farmer trying to make it to the next growing season. That was his first clue this wasn’t a Rebellion sanctioned hit.

“I’m a bounty hunter. I do what the bounty contract states.”

“Yes, well, um, I mean,” She wraps a lock of hair around a finger. She’s not playing coy, he’s seen her do that enough times, when he’d been patrolling an area for Vader, and she’d been on the Senate floor.

She’s young, but she is certainly not stupid. It’s something he knows all too well, that feeling of being the oldest one in the room when your age reflects none of it. For nineteen, Leia has all the posie of the best orators, and the ability to hide all of that behind a giggle and a blushing face, conveniently fooling everyone from the Senator of Garai’va to the Grand Moffs. “i just, um, don’t want you to get overly enthusiastic.”

“Princess, I assure you, I have never been described with that word.”

The princess smiles up at him with far too bright of a smile for the work he’s about to do. Under his helmet, he just closes his eyes for a second.

The bounty is bagged and tagged, not killed, no, though he’s certainly not going to be running away from justice anytime soon.

The Princess transfers the credits to his account, which is typical. She adds a note, “thank you for listening,” which is not. He's never been called a good listener before, either.

* * *

 

There’s another meeting, soon after that first one. Her dress looks like someone yanked the stars out of the sky and soldered them onto blood-red silk. “It’s my birthday,” she explains, waving at the dress, and the tiara in her hair. Everything about her is glowing, intense, wild, but not as intense as the fire in her eyes. The bounty contract she'd offered him was written with that same furious efficiency.  “Or will be, tomorrow. My friends started early.”

“And?”

“And there’s a bounty, of course. I’ll transfer the details.” She runs her fingers through a lock of her hair, which also seems to be shot-through with starlight-infused wires. It’s all stupid, the crap they’ve got her wrapped in, tied up in bows and coils of precious metal.

Can’t they see her eyes are the most star-like things about her? Not that he knows anything about fashion. But he does know a thing about how bright, how cold, a star can seem when it’s far, far out of reach. And damn, does he know a great deal about how hot a star can burn, when you get too close.

He tells himself this place, this time, is not remotely the time to burn. But it’s not until he looks away from her, staring over her shoulder into her apartment, that the fire cools.

“You won’t--”

“I won’t kill him, Princess,” he says. “If it’s in the contract.”

“It is.” She pauses, tapping one finger to her rose-gold painted lips. “He should be attending the party tomorrow, the official one.”

“Is that the one where they dress you up like a Star Destroyer?”

She freezes, and then, bursts out laughing. “I suppose it might make more sense than this outfit. At least that one would be symbolic.” But she shivers, now that she’s imagining wearing anything made by the Imperials.

Boba isn’t surprised. He knows a great deal about the Organas dealings, far more than Leia realizes. Far more than even Vader realizes. But as no one’s paid him for his information, well, he’ll just keep it to himself.

“Then maybe I’ll have him back to you by this time tomorrow,” Boba says, though he makes no promises. She didn’t pay nearly enough for that. “A birthday present.”

“What nineteen year old wouldn’t want hard merchandise on her birthday?”

Under his helmet, his eyebrow arches. He knows a great deal about the Organas, that’s true, but he hadn’t expected the princess to know anything about bounty hunting.

The target is far too easy to capture, though doing so means sliding through the ballroom, closer and closer to where the guest of honor sits. She’s not wearing a Star Destroyer, or a dress with all the fire of stolen suns. No, she’s wearing a thin white dress that clings to every curve, and somehow is more scandalous than wearing nothing at all.

Boba turns away from her, collects the target, and delivers him by midnight to the rendezvous point. This one, holonews sources say, has been using refugee ships to run spice throughout the galaxy. Her message, tied to the payment, says “thank you for the best present of them all.”

Boba Fett has never given anyone a birthday present before, and certainly has never been thanked for one.

* * *

 

This time, the princess met him on the roof of a shopping center. SHe’s dressed more practically, at least, practically compared to the monstrosity of a dress she’s usually wearing. This time, the dress ends at mid knee and she’s got tall boots on. He’s very familiar now with her boots, mainly because the outfit also has an incredibly low neckline, one that (unlike 99% of all low necklines, or frankly, fashion choices involving no neckline at all) intrigued him a great deal. If she had moved just a little too fast…

He remembers to stare at her shoes. They’re some sort of synthetic leather, brand new, no mud on them, of course.

“And the three convicts will not be killed.”

“Correct.”

“Right. Good. Just. Checking.” This time, at least, she keeps her words clipped, trying hard to hide the nerves that still appear at the topic.

“Anything else?”

“Are you tired, Boba?”

He freezes, shocked, at both the question, and the way she’d used his name. “I am fine.”

But he doesn’t leave, and neither does she. Her boots shift a little, as she rocks her weight from her heels to her toes. He tries not to think about what that bouncing movement is doing to her neckline. “Why?” he finally manages.

“Because you seem so,” the Princess replies. “Forgive me for asking.”

He doesn’t kill the three targets, though doing so leaves him far more battered than the alternative. But it’s in the contract and it’s what she asked, so he does it.

Her note, with double the agreed upon payment, says, “thank you, get some rest.”

Boba Fett doesn’t know how to rest, though he does try, at least for a few hours.

* * *

 

Time passes. He takes jobs, some for her, some for others. He doesn’t kill for her. He kills, and often, for the Empire. But her jobs, those he takes with more care, and finds himself looking forward to, no more than perhaps a planet might look forward to the moment in it's orbit that it comes closest to its sun. Because her jobs mean a chance to see her, to talk to her, and he finds himself fascinated by what she has to say. She's not predictable, though she is professional, and he values that second trait enough to be intrigued by the first.

Each bounty is delivered with utter secrecy, each note is sent with handwritten care. Then, Leia leaves Coruscant, leaves his tracking network entirely. The bounty that’s been on her head for years disappears. It had never been high enough for him to bother taking, but he’d never thought she’d be stupid enough to be caught by a hunter stupid enough to go for that low a fee.

But she is gone, and then, Alderaan is too.

He doesn’t think about it, after he learns of the news. There’s work to do.

Boba Fett is good at his job, and that’s all. He doesn’t ask extra questions. He doesn't waste time worrying.

So when his comm channel buzzes, and against all odds it’s the Princess, he takes the job.

A minute later, he’s punching in the coordinates for Yavin IV.

* * *

 

“You’ll kill him.”

The words are delivered with practiced care, but sound so strange coming from her, from her soft, polished voice. Boba turns his head, just slightly, though the helmet could have done the work for him. They’re standing in the shadows of an ancient stone structure, far taller than the already vast trees around them. Boba turns his head, because he is just a small bit startled. She’s still the Princess, though she’s dressed in a simple robe, with some knee-length tunic underneath. But there’s nothing starlike about her eyes, not now.

She is cold and she is furious, as she says, “I want him dead.”

Boba Fett nods, slowly. “Then put--”

“It’s already in the contract.” She folds her arms. “I’m not stupid anymore.”

“Princess,” he corrects her, quietly. “I never thought you were.”

There were many words he might have used to describe her on Coruscant, and a few more here, in the shadows of this forest, but none are the word fool. If anything, he’s realizing that word applies to him.

Because he knows he’ll deliver her the bounty as she asked for it. And he knows, if that’s what she’s asking, then he will spare no bit of his own cold fury ensuring the target is dead.

The Princess says, “do you want to know why?”

“I don’t need to,” he replies.

The job is done, and paid for. This time, there is no note.

* * *

 

Which is what brings Boba back to Yavin IV. Leia’s easy enough to track, because the guards must have already been told she works with him on occasion. It might be the only foolish thing she’s done. Her bedroom is on a third floor of a stone structure, with a small balcony outside. It’s any easy climb up for him.

The balcony holds no traps either. She must think she’s safe here, on Yavin IV, or maybe, she’s forgotten to think of that at all.

No. He knows her well enough by now. The answer isn’t that she’s forgotten to care about her own safety, it’s that she’s stopped, entirely.

Boba shouldn’t… and yet, he does. He takes one step, another, deeper into her bedroom. SHe’s watching him, from where she’s sitting on the bed. Just sitting. Again, she’s dressed in simple clothes, in fabric that looks the way he thinks fabric should look, rough-spun and naturally dyed. He wishes he could say it suits her, but he’s pretty sure the confidence she used to wrap around her shoulders like a cloak matched her much better.

“The job’s done.” he says, which is stupid. She knows that already.

“It won’t bring them back.” Leia mumbles, to her knees. She’s not looking at him, and he knows even if she lifted her head, she wouldn’t see him.

He thinks back to an empty helmet on a far away arena floor. He thinks back to years plotting vengeance, and how every attempt at it only made him more cold, more hollow. “No. Nothing will.”

“He gave the order.” She says.

Boba isn’t surprised, but he does find himself glad the man is dead.

“Princess.”

“Leia,” she says, finally lifting her head. “Princess of what?”

There are tears now on her cheeks, and those, he thinks, are more like comet trails, rarely seen. So rarely seen, he decides, that he needs to offer payment in return. Carefully, he unlatches his helmet.

Now it’s his helmet on the ground, his vulnerability on display for her. Leia studies him, not with shock, nor with indifference, (he’s seen both before) but softness. The ice in her gaze melts as she watches his eyes. Her hand reaches out, to touch his cheek, stroking along his jawline with a thumb. “I always thought you’d be beautiful,” she says.

“I can assure you, I have never been described with that word.”

The echo of their first meeting makes her smile. Her other hand goes to his hip, pulling him closer to her as she kneels up on the bed, to make herself eye-level. He knows what she wants. For once, he lets himself want it too.

It’s Leia who pulls him forward, but it’s Boba who kisses her. He kisses her the way stars burn, and finds that there is still fire inside her yet. Her teeth tug his lower lip, and he moans, sinking one gloved hand into the tangle of her hair. He can’t feel anything of her body, with his armor between them, and it only heightens the intimacy of the kiss that connects them.

His free hand goes to her chin, so he can tilt her head back and lay soft bites down her neck. Her moan vibrates against his lips.

Then, she’s pulling him up, kissing him again, and again, her fingernails running whorls over his buzzed-short hair. He’s a crashing ship, burning up in a planet’s atmosphere. He’s on fire, and she’s the source.

“Take off your armor,” she whispers.

He does so, piece by piece, until he’s just in his faded flight suit. Leia tugs that open, kissing down his chest. There are bites between her kisses, and his fists grip the sheets of the bed beneath him in pleasure. Her tongue finds one of his nipples and flicks over it. He bites back a curse, not used to the sensitive area being touched like that. Leia smiles, and lets her teeth graze over it it. This time, there’s no holding back his moan.

Leia springs up, kisses him hard. “My guards are one room away.”

She’s pressed on top of him now, her narrow frame so light and so warm against his own body. His hand goes to the small of her back. “Then you’ll just have to be quiet.” Then, to test if she will be, his hand slides a little lower, and grips her ass, hard. Leia’s hips roll forward, pressing into his, but she stays quiet. “Good girl,” he whispers.

“I’m not good,” Leia whispers.

“I’ll tell you a secret.” His hand squeezes her rear again, before moving toward his next target. The simple tunic she’s wearing has already ridden up, so that there’s little fabric to move away to reach her core… except for the undercloth he finds there. It’s already soaked, so he toys with her, using the wet fabric to brush back and forth over her clit, until she stifles her moan by biting her fist.

Only then do his fingers slide under the garment, to brush over all her aching need. He whispers, “neither am I.”

She’s tight when he pushes one finger inside her, tight and warm, and now it it’s him doing his best not to moan. That’s not helped at all when Leia starts rocking on his hand, coaxing her own pleasure along. “You know what you like,” he mutters.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He kisses her again, because he’s the one who doesn’t know what he likes, not in this moment. Boba wants all of her. He wants to taste her and touch her and bury himself inside her. It’s all so much, this wild wanting spreading through him. One night is not going to be enough.

One night is all they have.

 

He’s used to making the best of limited resources, and tonight will just have to be no exception. His second finger pushes in, and they curve inside her, pressing lightly against her wall, making her tremble. “A-already?” she whispers.

“There’ll be more.” Boba doesn’t make promises. Not often. He’s much more used to threats. But tonight… “I promise. Just come for… for now.”

He doesn’t say _come for me_ , as much as he wants to, because even if she’s not a princess, she’s still not his. They belong to different stars, to different fates. Tonight, though, somehow, they’re in the same orbit.

Leia’s pleasure climaxes hot and hard, her body shaking around his hand. He works her through the waves, watching her face, careful only to give her as much as she can take, and not more. Leia, though, he’s finding, enjoys taking an awful lot.

He thinks of her using the language of bounty hunters, of the set of her determined face when she’s made up her mind. He thinks of her whispering _kill him_ in that quiet forest. Then, he sucks the desire off his fingers, using his other hand to guide her back down to bed. He’s still thinking as she rests against his side, imagining her as a bounty hunter herself.

She’d make a fine one.

In another world, with different stars.

He’s lost in his thoughts, and in the memory of the taste of her, so he’s surprised when he feels the pressure of a hand on his cock, through the fabric of his flight suit. “Leia?”

“Mm.” her voice is a little hoarse, but her expression is intent as she traces over him, using the pad of one finger to rub over his sensitive tip. There’d been a little precome, and now she’s… she’s using that damn wet fabric to punish him with the same sweet pleasure as he’d done to her.

Then, she darts forward. His cock is out, and in her mouth before he has time to react. Which is probably good, because had she taken longer, he would have distracted her, would have gone back to her pleasure. Boba’s not used to receiving pleasure, no more than he’s used to getting warm notes with his bounties.

_Get some rest_ , she’d said. As if his lifestyle would ever allow that. As if he ever had the time to… “Fuuuck,” he gasps out, because she’s just done something incredible with her tongue, some sort of twist that he didn’t even know was possible, wringing out the deepest moan from him.

She pulls up, and he’s cold and shaking without the hot pleasure of her mouth on him. Then, she licks her lips, “didn’t we agree on quiet?”

“That was before you started sucking me off.”

“Mm. Rule still applies.” Her hand travels up and down his length, her fingertips drumming gently over his aching skin. He’s so hard already… “Unless you want me to stop?”

“No!” the first time is a hoarse roar. He drops his tone. “No. Not unless you want to.”

She plants a dramatic little kiss on his tip, her eyes flicking up in his direction, giving him an answer. “Leia,” he whispers, as she coaxes more of him back into her mouth. His fingers brush the hair from her face, and then, travel down the smooth skin of her neck. “You look incredible with my cock in your mouth.”

He’s quite sure she’s never been described with those words either. But they seem to spur her on. She works him with her hands, with her tongue, with a skill set he’d had no idea anyone could possess. All his most intimate skin is hers to conquer. She nips at the top of his thigh, licks down his length, paying extra attention to his now so-tender tip, and presses a fingertip against his prostate, behind his sack. That alone is enough to make him bite his lip, hard.

He tastes the smallest bit of blood as she works him, pressing the spot in time with her sucking. “Leia,” he gasps out again. If he’s allowed to say her name tonight, he’s going to use it like currency, spend every bit of it he can. “You are going to kill me.”

She lifts her head once more, and this time, there is no ice, no coldness in her. Instead, she is fire and determination and hunger. The things that keep people like them alive. People who have lost everything, and keep moving forward, despite, or perhaps, because of the loss.

Boba’s hand reaches out, tugs her gently up toward him, and kisses her slightly-swollen lips. She tastes like his desire, and it’s perhaps egotistical of him to admit how pleased that makes him.

“Maybe that was my plan.”

Then, he rolls them both over, but carefully, aware how much smaller she is than him. “Then I’ll have to distract you, won’t I?”

His fingers are rougher this time, but she’s even wetter. He tugs away the undercloth entirely, the fabric ripping in his hand. He’d almost considered apologizing, before Leia hooks one leg over his hip, opening herself up for more touching from him. This time, he kisses her as he works her, knows more of what she likes, knows that she wants him hard and deep, and plans ahead, as he always does, to give her his cock in exactly the same way.

Adding a third finger is enough to make her come.

Her nails rake down his back as she gasps, her body arching up. In that moment’s distraction, he peels off his flight suit, before making short work of her clothes too. They’re both too flushed with passion, too on fire, to worry about their scars. Though a small, calculating part of him, because that’s the part that has kept him alive every day until now, notices the small rows of scars on her skin. They’re fresh, and they’re in the neat lines only an Imperial torture droid can leave.

For the first time, he regrets not making a bounty he’s collected suffer more.

But that, he knows, won’t heal her, won’t remove the past, any more than any other act of vengeance. All he can do is offer her pleasure in this moment, and the next, and the next… until the night is over.

“What do you want?” he touches her face, tries for that same gentle gesture she’d used on him, cupping his palm around her cheek. He’s not good with gentle. But for her, he’ll try.

“You,” she whispers, her hands sliding over him. “You’re… damn… you really are beautiful.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to flatter.”

It’s quite clear his cock certainly doesn’t need any more encouragement, as he lets it rub between her thighs, not quite inside her, not yet.

“Boba,” she says his name with that crisp, core-centric accent he finds attractive on only her. There’s a lot of things that are only attractive on her. Like her loyalties. “I assure you, I’m not one to flatter unnecessarily.”

“Mm,” he nods. “What about cursing? Do you do that unnecessarily?”

“What?” she tilts her head.

He takes himself in his hand, rubbing his tip against her clit, rocking against her, not inside her, not yet, though they’re both aching for it. “I want to hear you say filthy things, I think.” His gaze locks onto hers. “I want you to beg for it.”

“Oh, I don’t beg,” she retorts. “You’ll be waiting until the stars fall for that, Boba Fett.”

He considers, and realizes she’s probably right. Because if she begged the Empire, they might have spared her planet. It’s a sobering thought, which reminds him of one other. “I, uh… I have a anti-fertility, uh…” he takes her hand and places it on the mark where the implant sits on his arm. It’s a common enough scar, and probably gives her the answer she needs without saying anything else.

“I assumed you would,” she replied. “You do think of everything.”

Except for that comment about begging. He’s still annoyed at himself for that mis-step. So, he kisses her, and whispers, “if you won’t beg… should I?”

It’s more a gift than he’s ever offered anyone. But she’s a present to him, the first present he’s had in so long.

She smiles against his lips. “Yes. But only once you’re inside me.” she moves her mouth to close to his ear. “I want you to fuck me so dirty, I want you to come inside me, and then, I want you to taste me.”

His breath catches, and he realizes he got his wish after all. The princess can talk dirty… and the bounty hunter is going to beg.

Without any more talk, with her dirty words still echoing in his mind, he slides inside her. She is tight, though well-warmed and ready for him. His hand goes to her hip, holding her steady as he thrusts deep. Giving her that wild rhythm she'd so liked from his hand.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Please. More.”

He’s all too happy to answer that request. He leans forward, hooking her knees over his shoulders, giving him an angle that feels incredible to him, and lets her eyes roll back in her head. Boba pounds into her with desperation, already so close to the edge from her oral ministrations.

“Boba,” she whispers.

His free hand cups her face again, trying that tenderness, mixing it with the fierceness he’s giving her. “I want you,” he starts. Trying to learn to beg for her. “I want you so bad.

“H-how do you want me?”

“Like this.” His other hand rubs her clit, above where they’re joined. He slows his thrusts, painfully slow for him, and blissful for her. “I want you like this. I want to come like this.”

“Do you want to come very badly?” she’s been able to catch her breath.

“So bad.” he admits, dropping his face to her shoulder. He’s not going to last much longer, not… fuck… not when she clenches around him like that. “Please. Please, Leia.” Her hands, her body, coax the words from him. They’re intermixed with curses, because even his begging is rough. “Let me fucking come. I want… damn. I want you. Please. Fuckin’ please.”

“Yes,” she whispers. She kisses the side of his neck, her lips warm against his pulse. “Come for me, Boba.”

His shattering is bright, a supernova of pleasure, ripping through him, erasing every thought, every concern. The earlier teasing, coupled with the way Leia squeezes him, pulls every last drop of his desire from him. He can’t scream, they’ve had a contract to be silent, so his moan is a low vibration in his chest, and he holds her tight to him so she knows. So she has the proof that she has killed him after all.

If he had died, it would honestly be less surprising than the pleasure that courses through his body, even as he slumps down, rolling off her in the last minute. His breathing is as ragged as if he’d been shot, his heart racing like he’s personally made the jump to hyperspace.

But the night’s not over yet. He’s made a promise.

After only a minute, or an eternity longer, of enjoying the mind-numbing bliss post-orgasm, Boba rolls over once more.

“I think you had another request in that contract,” he teases, though his voice is far from steady.

“Show me,” she says.

“As you wish.” Boba’s kiss to her is the same as a signature on a contract. It’s enough to assure that he’s hers for the night, perhaps even for another night, and another.

He moves between her legs, and kisses up one thigh. Her skin is so soft. He’s not… not used to soft things, silk sheets and tender skin, gentle hands on his shoulder, coaxing him up higher, higher. To her core, already so wet and warm. He tastes her, just a bit, and is rewarded with a low moan.

“Boba,” Leia’s fingers dig into his shoulders, sliding to wrap around his shoulder blades, holding him in place.

She’s always seemed so fragile to him in all those ridiculous gowns she wears, but in this moment, wearing nothing at all, she seems to be the strongest woman in the galaxy. “Don’t stop,” she whispers the command.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Not when she tastes better than his dreams had been. Not when her hips are rocking softly against him, coaxing him to offer more to her. His hand slides between her legs next. When he starts to stroke her, then she screams.

He pulls back. “Didn’t we agree to be quiet?”

“That was before I knew you were going down on me.” She shrugs, a tumble of brown hair falling over her shoulder, hiding just a little bit of one pert nipple from him. “I’ve soundproofed the room.”

Leia points with her chin and he looks over to see a keypad by her bed. “It’s supposed to be for… meetings, but it works well enough for this.”

Boba’s heard the pause, and ignores it. “And is a common occurrence for you?” He kisses her hip bone, because the way her hair hides-and-reveals her nipple with each breath is far too tempting to not explore. Far more tempting that provoking her into explaining what that pause before meetings meant. He already knows anyway. Knows, and for tonight, doesn’t care.

Tomorrow, he’ll deal with the fact he killed a Grand Moff to please a leader of the Rebellion.

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy! Comments welcome!  
> Minorly inspired by [TO MOVE THE UNIVERSE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16240022/chapters/37965833) a multi-chapter Boba/Leia that takes the same concept (Leia hiring Boba for the Alliance's dirty work) in a much less smutty, although lovely, direction


End file.
